Of All the Gin Joints
by raspberry-rave
Summary: Step into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly. Ginny Weasley, lone lion, stumbles into a den of 'snakes', and quickly remembers a tried and true adage: When in Rome, do as the Romans.


**A/N:** This fic was originally intended to be submitted to the D/G Fic Exchange on Livejournal some time ago. *hides face* It's too embarrassing to say when.

_________________________________________

_You only hold me up like this  
Cause you don't know who I really am  
Sometimes I just want to know what it's like to be you  
We're making out inside crashed cars  
We're sleeping through all our memories  
I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive  
(now I only waste it dreaming of you)_

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness  
Cause all of our moves make up for the silence  
And oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase  
Like I'll never be the same

_-- Of All the Gin Joints in the World_

Fall Out Boy

_--*--_

**Owl to Ronald Weasley**

**1:32 p.m. **

Ron,

Luna's invited me to her pub for after work drinks. Aren't we overdue for compulsory sibling bonding … and alcohol?

Ginny

**Owl to Ginevra Weasley**

**1:35 p.m. **

Gin,

You read my mind. Meet you at eight at – which pub is it again?

**Owl to Ronald Weasley**

**1:40 p.m.**

Ron,

The Hog's Head. Remember that dingy old shack in Hogsmeade – not the shrieking one. She says it's cleaner now, not that that's a huge accomplishment. When Aberforth owned it, the bar got cleaned when one of those goats brushed against it.

Hog's Head at eight, then?

**Owl to Ginevra Weasley**

**1:45 p.m.**

Gin,

Fine with me as long as you're buying. Do we still have to bring our own glasses?

--*--

The wooden sign, spelled to stay up no matter how dire the weather, swung and creaked in the light breeze that ruffled through Hogsmeade village.

**Hog's Head Bar**

Est. AD 923

_Bring your own glasses_

The warning was scrawled in quick-dry perma-ink by a nearly illegible hand. Not nearly as illegible as one might think, because after the first few visits most patrons found themselves taking the advice.

The grimy windows let in only the luckiest straggles of light from the antique street lanterns outside, and the bar itself was illuminated in a dull, unpromising yellow glow that chilled rather than warmed customers. Both the dirty windows and the lighting gave the regulars the privacy and anonymity they craved. For this reason, the Hog's Head Bar still managed to make a profit each year; disreputable, paying consumers are easier to come by than one might think.

An attractive witch in her early twenties was seated at a bar that had seen – and forgotten – better days. She held a margarita glass casually by the stem, pursing her lips as she observed the bartender. He was drying a glass with the traditional filthy rag that all Hog's Head bartenders had come to know and love and all its customers had come to know and despise.

"Blaise." Pansy pouted.

The handsome wizard glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the glass. There was a smudge that hadn't been there before the drying.

"Aren't you lonely?" she queried.

"When I'm surrounded by such fine people?" Blaise's reply was a sterling example of that great literary device: sarcasm. Aside from Pansy, the bar was occupied by a shabbily dressed, elderly wizard with bloodshot eyes and a nervous tic, a young couple given over to nauseating public displays of affection and the charming (not) hag in the snug at the back.

Pansy scoffed delicately and downed the rest of her Purple Margarita. She placed the glass on the counter where it refilled instantly, and smiled appreciatively at the wooden surface before continuing.

"Be serious, Zabini," she admonished.

"I _am_ serious, Parkinson" he retorted.

"I haven't seen you with a girl in over two months. Now, _that's_ serious."

"Why so concerned, Pans?"

"Because such a stellar specimen of masculinity as yourself should not be wasted on bitter ex-schoolmates and desperately bored housewives."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I'm just objectifying your body, really," Pansy went on. "Don't tell Draco. You know how put out he gets when he isn't the centre of attention."

"What makes you think I don't _have_ a girl, Pans?" he responded lightly.

Pansy gave him an appraising look that spoke volumes. "Don't tease, Blaise. It's unbecoming."

A loud pop signalled the arrival of young witch a few years younger than Pansy. Unlike the tastefully dressed brunette, the new girl looked like she had been dressed by a blind house elf.

The blue jumper she wore under her overalls was bedecked in orange squiggly lines arranged in a pattern that could only be described as abstract, or utterly confounding. The overalls themselves were a bright green that was dimmed, if not accented, by socks that were differing shades of orange. For accessories, she wore a necklace of Butterbeer corks and a bizarre pair of spectacles was perched on top of her shiny blonde head.

"Hello, Pansy," Luna said absently, before turning her attention to the tray on the bar. Tapping her wand rhythmically on the wood, she called out in a clear voice,

"Two Witches' Brew, one Phoenix's Tail and a Phoenix's Tears. That's for the witch in the snug," she said to no one in particular. "She needs a pick-me-up before leaving. She such a dear, even asked me if I thought the weather was alright for flying." Luna smiled vaguely.

Blaise had been watching Luna with a bemused expression, while Pansy looked on with an air of mild interest. She was far too used to Luna's oddities to complain about them now. Besides, as Blaise delighted in reminding her, he had full control over the staff of The Snake Pit and could hire, or fire, whomever he chose.

Pansy glanced at the clock that hung above the bar. A quarter to eight. She settled more comfortably into her barstool. Her entertainment would be here in approximately twenty minutes; Draco was always fashionably late.

--*--

He was late.

Ginny glanced at the watch that had been her coming of age present. Ten minutes to nine. She huffed; Ron was late. Stamping her feet against the chilly wind, she tugged her cloak more tightly around her and glanced around the streets of Hogsmeade for her errant brother.

A pop of Apparition drew her attention and she hurried over to the figure that had just appeared.

"Finally! I was freezing my bum off waiting for you," she accused.

The person turned around and turned out not to be her brother, but a burly wizard whom Ginny had never met formally but knew to be Gregory Goyle.

"And what a lovely bum it is, Ms. Weasley. It would be a shame to have it frozen off," he teased good-naturedly.

Her cheeks flushed with colour when she realized her mistake, and she muttered an apology once the shock of hearing _Goyle_ tease _her_ wore off.

"Are you going inside?" he asked politely.

Ginny stared when he addressed her, then remembered her manners and nodded, deciding to wait for Ron where there was warmth and hopefully enough alcohol to dim the surprise of being spoken to civilly by a former Slytherin.

"Don't worry," Goyle began as he held the door open for her – yet another surprise. "I still hate your guts." He grinned crookedly and Ginny surprised herself further by finding the once goofy-looking henchman attractive.

"Same here," she replied and found herself grinning in response.

The bar seemed to be more full than usual, if Luna's reports were to be used as an example. She described the regular night fare as whoever wandered in off the road. Tonight looked like a party, and she frowned while looking for Luna, wondering if the girl had known.

"Lost, Weasley?" a voice asked from behind her.

She turned to find another face she hadn't seen since Hogwarts: Blaise Zabini. He leaned casually against the bar with a glass in one hand and a rag thrown over his shoulder, looking for all the world like the poser Ginny had accused him of being.

"No, Zabini, but _you_ must be behind that bar." Ginny replied acidly. "What, can't get anyone to do your dirty work for you anymore?"

He chuckled, startling Ginny. Tonight was obviously a night for surprises. "Touché, Ms. Weasley. Move along, now, you're obstructing paying customers."

Ginny shot him an irritated look as she was pushed aside by the ever-growing mob of people. She sat down with a plop on the nearest barstool and flicked at a piece of dirt on the counter.

"Who does a girl have to snog to get a drink around here," she muttered.

"I wouldn't recommend the bartender," said a voice to her left. "He's a cheap bastard."

Ginny whirled around to face Pansy Parkinson and scowled.

"Nice to see you too, Weasley," Parkinson remarked with asperity,

"Did you expect me to be pleased, Parkinson? Where's Malfoy, anyway? He's the only one missing from this charming little get-together."

"Late, as usual," Pansy replied sourly. "To his own party, might I add. The git doesn't have a lick of decorum."

Ginny frowned at the frank admission. Slytherins weren't usually so quick to criticize their own to outsiders. How much had Parkinson had to drink?

"Same as my brother, you know," she said instead. "Well – you wouldn't. We were supposed to meet for drinks here and he hasn't shown up."

"Maybe they've run off together," Parkinson suggested.

A beat passed.

"I didn't think Ron was his type."

Parkinson laughed and signalled someone over. Ginny was still amazed that she shared a sense of humour with people like Parkinson and Zabini, whom she'd loathed in school.

"Ginny?" Luna asked in mild surprise.

"Luna!" Ginny hopped off the stool to hug her friend round the middle. Luna balanced the tray one-handed and patted Ginny's back awkwardly with the other hand.

"You didn't say anything about a party," she whispered accusingly.

"I didn't know there was one," Luna replied lightly. "Is it just you tonight?"

"For now, yes. Ron was supposed to be here, but for some reason he's not."

"Yes, well, perhaps that's for the best."

Ginny looked at her, puzzled, but Luna didn't clarify the cryptic comment.

"What will you have?" she asked instead.

"Oh, er, a martini for starters, I suppose." Ginny replied. "What do you recommend?"

Luna paused thoughtfully. "Working your way through the entire stock. I think Blaise gives a discount to people who complete it."

Ginny was flabbergasted. "Well, that sounds like a plan. How many people have done it?"

"None since I've been here, but I heard that Draco once gave Blaise a run for his money." Luna was inexplicably amused.

Ginny wondered how familiar her friend was with the Slytherins, and what their relationship was with the bar. Now that she thought about it, Luna had never mentioned who she worked for.

"Luna, who owns the Hog's Head now?" she asked curiously.

The blonde looked at her in wonder. "Draco, Blaise and Pansy – didn't you know? And it's called The Snake Pit. They felt that 'Hog's Head Bar' wasn't giving the right image to consumers."

"The right … image … to consumers?" Ginny sank into the barstool and waved a hand weakly. "I've changed my mind. Start me off with a Witches' Brew – and none of that watered down stuff. Slytherins are bound to have the strong brandy."

Luna nodded briskly and tapped the bar counter. Moments later, a steaming mug of brew appeared in front of Ginny who took a grateful sip, not even bothering to be surprised at the nifty bar counter.

"That's not even the best part," Parkinson whispered conspiratorially. "Watch." And she placed Ginny's now empty mug on the grimy surface where it refilled instantly. Ginny was delighted.

She was surrounded by ex-Slytherins – the only lion in a pit of snakes – having a drink with Pansy Parkinson – a witch whom, a few years ago, she wouldn't have hesitated to hex. And she was enjoying it.

--*--

Draco Apparated into Hogsmeade a few minutes past ten and adjusted his cloak before striding over to the door of his pub. He chuckled darkly, knowing his father hated this particular investment, and enjoyed his father's annoyance with all the temerity of a rebellious teen. In point of fact, The Snake Pit drew in more than enough revenue to cover its expenses, and a tidy profit besides. It was a wise investment choice.

When he entered the pub, the party was in full swing in the way only Slytherins could swing it. Loud, bass-filled music pumped from an invisible sound system, filling the room. Instead of the usual mustard glow, the bar was dark as night, illuminated only by the colourful, roaming lights that created a surreal depiction of the bodies moving in the space between tables.

Draco was impressed. Zabini had not lost his touch since Hogwarts. He could throw a party then and he could throw a party now, only bigger and better and without a mandatory curfew.

He made his way to the bar to say hello and start the evening properly – with a glass of Zabini's specialty Phoenix concoctions. It was only when he got there that he realized the crowd was cheering someone on. Someone who was standing on top of the bar and swaying slowly in time to the music. He tried to catch Blaise's eye without having to meander through the close mob, but to no avail. Zabini was nowhere in sight.

Pansy was seated on the edge of the bar, swinging her legs to the beat and in danger of losing the expensive sandals she favoured. Just as he made up his mind to force his way through the mob (and possibly hex a few people in the process) the dancing girl swayed a tad too close to the edge, lost what little balance she had and toppled over.

Without thinking, Draco altered his course and got close enough to the bar to catch her before she hit the ground. She landed crossways in his arms and her hair (he couldn't tell what colour it was in the dim lighting) had fallen to cover most of her face. At least she was breathing, Draco thought, and didn't show any signs of wanting to throw up.

"Whoops." She giggled, and pushed the hair away from her face. "Hey thanks, ma--" she began before catching sight of his face.

Draco frowned down at the youngest Weasley sibling, and wondered if she'd be permanently injured if he dropped her now.

Before he could do anything however, she opened her mouth to yell.

"Pansy, he's here!"

Draco was too stupefied at her familiarity with Pansy to rebel against holding a Weasley in his arms. She smelled nice despite the aroma of alcohol that was clinging to her like a second skin. He could detect her shampoo – something flowery – and the last vestiges of her perfume.

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked, heading towards him unsteadily in the high-heeled sandals.

"Hello, Pansy," he replied resignedly.

"You naughty boy! I told you to be here at eight--" she broke off to glance at Ginny who was still, somewhat comfortably, ensconced in his arms.

"You can put me down now, Malfoy," she pointed out.

"Thanks, Weasley," he replied sarcastically, and resisted the urge to drop her before placing her gently on the ground.

She adjusted her robes before linking an arm through Pansy's and facing his alarmed expression with amusement.

"She's been keeping me company," Pansy confided to Draco in a stage whisper, patting Ginny's arm. "Quite the head for alcohol, it seems. She's about halfway through Blaise's stock already."

A pale blond eyebrow rose. "Really, halfway? Fancy that. What did you have to sell, Weasley, to afford all those drinks?"

She might have flushed from the heat, the libation, her anger, or all three, but she winked at Pansy and threw him a saucy grin before replying.

"Nothing you'd be interested in buying, I'm sure," she said lightly. "Slumming tonight are we, Malfoy?"

"Aping your betters, Weasley?" he retorted.

She scowled at him, but Pansy intervened. "Children," she began chidingly, "don't fight. It's unbecoming."

Draco smirked at Ginny cheekily and sauntered away to find his bartender.

--*--

"Honestly, Pansy. I've no idea what you saw in him at Hogwarts – aside from the ravishing good looks that he hadn't grown into and more money that a girl could spend."

Ginny sat at the bar facing the crowd. She was enjoying the party, or at least she had been until Malfoy had shown up and ruined it all. She didn't even remember Ron was supposed to be there.

Pansy looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said slowly, swirling the margarita glass daintily. "He was an arse most of the time back then, but he's mellowed now, I suppose. He's not as nasty as he used to be."

At Ginny's raised eyebrows she amended, "To us, at least. You have to remember that you dated our sworn enemy those last few years. That and the fact that you're a Weasley are reason enough for him to hate you."

"And you don't?" Ginny asked casually.

"I never said that," Pansy replied smoothly, and her demeanour made Ginny remember for an instant that she was dealing with Pansy Parkinson, the witch who had helped to make her brother's life a living hell at school.

"Besides," Pansy continued, "Your blood is pure enough, for a traitor." She smirked at Ginny who stiffened, then decided to let that comment slide. The alcohol here was fantastic, and she was beginning to enjoy the Slytherins' caustic wit. It wouldn't do to get thrown out over trivialities like political opinions.

"I don't think he hates you in any case," Pansy went on. "Most of it's probably left over habit more than anything personal."

Ginny shrugged her indifference and continued nursing the drink she had. She was three-quarters of the way through Blaise's stock, and she had the bartender worried. She'd heard him muttering about getting more drinks from the back, and had laughed. As much as she could hold her alcohol, some of Blaise's concoctions were quite potent, and she was beginning to feel the effects. She reached for the tray of chips that she kept beside her and munched a few as she surveyed the packed floor.

"I know that look," Pansy said accusingly. "That's the look you had just before you got up on the bar. Blaise about had a conniption. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be modest."

"Nah," Ginny replied, grinning mischievously, "That's Hufflepuff. Gryffindors will do anything for a laugh."

Pansy sighed and downed the rest of the margarita in one gulp before refilling it on the counter. "I think shots are in order," she suggested.

Ginny's grin grew wider.

"Have you ever had a Flaming Phoenix?" Pansy asked.

When Ginny shook her head she explained. "One of Blaise's specialty Phoenixes – it's a shot made from Merlin-knows-what, bright red with a flame on the top. It's extremely potent," she warned.

Ginny waved aside her reservations. "Blaise!" she called down the bar, smiling when the bartender appeared with a pop at her elbow.

"I'm busy, Weasley. What is it?"

Ginny giggled at his briskness, and laughed loudly when he scowled.

"I want to try a Flaming Phoenix," she told him and watched his reaction. Blaise's eyes slid to Pansy, and an eyebrow rose before his glance returned to Ginny.

"Luna!" Blaise called, and Ginny knitted her eyebrows in confusion. "A witness, so no one will think we've poisoned you."

She laughed, admitting he had a point. "I think I can handle it," she promised.

Regardless, Luna appeared before Blaise would even prepare the drink and she supervised the process, paying more attention to the handsome bartender than Ginny thought strictly necessary. It was only when they shared a glance and a surreptitious smile that understanding dawned. Ginny set aside worry for her friend's well-being and wished her all the luck in the world. Blaise appeared similarly besotted, so she didn't think heartbreak was a primary concern for the moment.

The drink was exactly as Pansy had described and Ginny felt at thrill of anticipation as her hand closed around the shot glass.

"Ten Galleons says she singes her eyebrows," said a horribly familiar voice from behind.

"You're on, Malfoy," Blaise responded.

"I'm in for five– she's never had a Phoenix before," Luna put in.

Ginny shot her a how-could-you look, but the blonde shrugged lightly and smiled at her.

"I think she'll handle it," Pansy added, and Ginny looked at her gratefully. "Five Galleons says she survives singe-free."

Four pairs of eyes watched Ginny closely as she gripped the glass and prepared to throw back the flaming, crimson liquid.

"One, two, three."

--*--

"I didn't think she'd actually do it."

"Pay up, Malfoy. You, too, Luna; shame on you, betting against your friend."

Ginny smirked triumphantly at the sour expression on Malfoy's face when she held her hand out for the Galleons.

"Tell you what, Malfoy. I'll trade you for it. You don't have to give me Galleons."

"What do you want in return?" he asked suspiciously, narrowing shrewd grey eyes.

"A dance."

At Malfoy's blank look, she added, "Just one, or more, if you'd like, but the terms of the trade are one dance."

"For ten Galleons? Are you sure you don't want the money, Weasley." The emphasis on her last name made his meaning unmistakable.

"I'm sure, Malfoy, and stop insulting your dance partner. It's unbecoming."

Ginny shared an amused glance with Parkinson before taking Malfoy's arm and tugging him to a free space among the mass of heaving bodies. His arm felt deliciously muscular underneath the shirt he wore, and Ginny had no doubt that the rest of his body was just as toned. No self-respecting Malfoy allowed his body to go to waste, after all.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked with suspicion as Ginny turned her back to him and pulled his arms around her waist, moving in time to the music.

"Dancing, Malfoy," she answered, speaking slowly as if to a small child. "Just relax, would you. It's easy, follow me." And she placed his hands on her hips as she moved, leaning back into his chest. It was a nice chest, just as toned as she thought it would be and even more comfortable that it was when he had caught her earlier. He stiffened when Ginny leaned against him but relaxed after some time and began moving on his own. Ginny repressed a triumphant 'Ha!'.

--*--

It was strangely… nice dancing with Ginny Weasley, Draco thought. Her petite frame fit exactly in his arms and they moved as one, swaying to the pounding rhythm. Her hand had snaked its way behind his neck and she pressed against him fully. One of his hands wrapped around her waist, while the other sat on her hip and pulled her even closer to him. They were already as close as they could get… with clothes on.

Draco didn't appreciate the new direction his mind took, but he began to appreciate more fully the curves of Ginny's body and the way her hips moved sinuously against his. Her hand toyed with the hair at his nape and his fingers caressed the skin at her waist. The floral smell of her shampoo tickled his nostrils and her hair slid tantalizingly across his chest when she moved her head.

In the poorly lit pub, with the loud music and anonymity of a crowd, he could pretend that they weren't a Malfoy and a Weasley, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, hating each other on principle. Here, in the relative safety and comfort of his bar, they were Draco and Ginny, a man and a woman dancing together and enjoying the night.

Ginny didn't put up much of a fight when he steered them subtly into a darker corner, protected from prying eyes. She didn't put up much of a fight when he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers. She didn't put up much of a fight when he kissed her, maybe because she was too busy giving as good as she got.

She clutched greedily at his shirt and moaned when his tongue finally invaded her mouth, hot and wet and demanding. She was as potent as the alcohol she tasted like. Draco tangled a hand in her thick tresses while another arm curved around her waist, almost lifting her of the ground when he pulled her closer.

Draco groaned when Ginny tugged his shirt free and raked her nails along his back. He made short work of her blouse and in no time had her bent over a table, shirtless and writhing underneath him. The writhing was almost his undoing, and he groaned again, drowning out Ginny's moan when she linked her legs around his back and pressed her hips to his.

Ginny hissed when Draco nibbled a spot just above her collarbone and shivered in delight when his mouth moved further south to nip at the tender skin of her breast. She made an inarticulate sound that Draco chose to interpret as a positive comment on his actions but he went no further, claiming her lips once more instead. Draco slowed the pace of this one, making sure neither of them became too heated. It wouldn't do to have Ginny on a table in the back of a bar. He liked to think he was classier than that, despite his baser instincts demanding that he take her all-too-willing body now.

The kiss simmered down to brief pecks as they slowed heir breathing. Ginny sat up. Shirtless as she was, with her chest heaving, Draco had to look away, but not before he got an impressive eyeful. She searched around for her blouse and slipped her arms through the sleeves, but she was having trouble with the buttons. At first Draco thought he had ripped some of them in his haste, but as he moved closer, he realized her hands were shaking too much to finish the simple task. He helped her, though his hands weren't much better, and lifted her off the table.

She expelled a shaky breath, laughing nervously, and ran a hand through her mussed hair. Draco didn't bother tucking in his shirt.

"Blame it on the alcohol?" she offered innocently.

Draco grinned at her, his teeth a white flash in the darkness.

"You should get back to the bar, unless you plan to finish what we started," he said, with enough inflection to make the statement sound like a suggestion.

She appeared to think about that for a few moments, hesitating. Her eyes darted from Draco to the bar to the table and back to Draco before she smiled mischievously. Draco thought she was about to suggest they continue before she turned around and practically ran back to the bar.

Smart girl.

Draco ran a tired hand through his hair in frustration. What in Merlin's name had he been thinking?

--*--

When he returned to the bar Pansy and Ginny were discussing something over martinis – his technique no doubt, Draco thought pettily. Blaise was drying a glass behind the bar but Draco had no doubt that he was listening avidly. Draco edged closer, trying to avoid detection while listening to their conversation.

"—still not sure why he stopped, or if _I_ would've if he hadn't" Ginny admitted quietly.

"I'm sure he finds you attractive or he wouldn't have initiated it in the first place," Pansy said pragmatically, while Blaise nodded in agreement.

"'Course there's always the fact that Draco's a fucking tease," Blaise added.

Draco cleared his throat. "Why not ask the 'fucking tease'?"

Ginny jumped, startled, her eyes widening when she saw him.

"I didn't think you were the type to kiss and tell, Weasley," he observed lightly.

"Nor did I, but they dragged it out of me. Must be something about Slytherins, making me do things I wouldn't normally do," she responded meaningfully.

Draco let that one slide. "Well, aren't you going to ask me?" he probed.

"Suddenly, I find I'm not too keen to know," Ginny replied timidly.

"Nonsense," Draco said firmly, pinning her with his stare, "It's simple really."

Ginny waited politely for him to go on.

"I didn't know whether you were a screamer, and I didn't want to go alerting the entire pub to our… indiscretion," he answered calmly, as if commenting on the weather.

Ginny flushed, and glared up at him. "I ought to slap you for saying that, but I think it will hurt more that you'll never find out that particular fact, Malfoy," Ginny said coolly. "You've insulted me for the last time tonight, I think." And she whipped her wand out to attack him with a Bat-Bogey, the curse landing right on target.

--*--

"You know all that nonsense about you being a screamer was just Draco being an arse and avoiding the truth, don't you?" Pansy asked in a concerned tone when, half an hour later, Ginny had still not calmed down.

She gulped down her fifth shot since hexing Draco and reached for a fruity cocktail to take the edge off the sting.

She waved away Pansy's concern. "Don't care. Git had it coming," she remarked bitterly.

"That may be so, but I think he actually likes you."

Ginny snorted and winced when some of the cocktail went up her nose. "Malfoy? Fat chance."

"Not Malfoy, Ginny, _Draco_," Pansy corrected gently and attempted to pry a sixth shot out of her vice-like grip.

"To me, there is no difference," Ginny argued. "Besides, he can't go two minutes without insulting me, and I can't last five without hexing him. It would never work out."

"At least there's passion," Pansy pointed out.

Ginny looked at her wearily. "Why are you pushing this?"

The witch took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before replying. "Draco is one of my oldest friends. Even though I've just met you, you seem like exactly what he needs right now. And you're not the girl you were at Hogwarts."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Who was?"

Pansy waved a hand airily. "You know, pushy, loud, obsessed with Potter, wrote horribly tacky poetry –"

"I get it," Ginny interrupted, laughing. "But what makes you think I'd be good for him?"

"Gods, woman, do I have to spell it out?" Pansy asked irritably.

"We Gryffindors aren't known for our stunning intellects," Ginny commented dryly.

"Duly noted. He's not exactly happy, Ginny, and you'd be a very welcome distraction."

"Is that all I'm good enough for – a distraction?" Ginny asked indignantly.

"Oh, Ginny, don't you see?" Pansy said with great feeling. "You'd be so much more."

--*--

She found him outside in the alleyway behind the bar. Blaise had put her on to the idea, hinting very heavily that it was where _he_ would go if _he_ wanted to be alone. Subtlety was not part and parcel of that particular Slytherin, Ginny thought with some amusement.

It was almost dawn, Aurora's long fingers turning the horizon pink. Clouds drifted lazily in the sky above them, hinting at a promise of a beautiful day. Stars were slowly disappearing, reminding Ginny that the night was almost over.

Draco held a bottle of Ogden's loosely in one hand and didn't turn around when she walked up. She would have liked to think that she drove him to drink, in fact the idea tickled her fancy, but she had to admit that wasn't the case. She studied him critically for a moment – alcohol flushed cheeks, messy hair as a result of several flying bats, partially unbuttoned shirt teasing her with the image of a smooth yet muscular chest.

She tripped casually over and leaned against the wall beside him.

"I'm not sorry I hexed you," she said petulantly.

Draco frowned. "Did you have to let it last so long? Those were the longest fifteen minutes of my life."

"Liar," Ginny teased. "I hexed you in fourth year, remember? I didn't take it off then."

He regarded her seriously and Ginny met his gaze soberly before glancing at the bottle he clutched.

"Do you mind sharing?" she asked after a while.

A beat passed.

"That depends," he answered carefully.

"On?"

"What I'm sharing, who I'm sharing with."

"Technicalities."

His gaze bore into her. "Not if I don't want to share."

"What wouldn't you want to share?"

"You, for one."

Ginny's breath caught. "I wouldn't want to share you either."

There was a pause, then Draco smirked at her. Ginny felt silly for feeling so happy.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Ginny suggested.

"So am I," Draco agreed and reached for her, pulling her closer until their lips met.

"You taste like Ogden's," Ginny commented when he had relinquished his claim on her mouth.

"Mm," was Draco's reply.

She plucked the bottle from limp fingers and put it to her head. She gave it a good shake before narrowing her eyes at him.

"It's finished," she grumbled sullenly.

Draco smirked at her, then squeezed her waist and smiled. "With any luck, it's only just begun."

**A/N:** It must be noted that the author is notoriously clichéd u_u

• Blaise's line – "With such fine people?" – is paraphrased from Jack's line in the movie Titanic – "Then I wouldn't be here drinking champagne with you fine people." It's hacked and pruned, but that's where the inspiration came from.

• Ginny's line – "To me, there is no difference" – is a popular comment in the Asian Pop fandom. It may not be copyrighted, but it didn't originate in the dark recesses of my mind. Credit should be given where credit is due. (Also not an original line)

• The summary of this fic is paraphrased from the novel/movie Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. Good watching. I'm not too sure about the reading, having never seen the book.

• The title of this fic is obviously taken from the title of the Fall Out Boy song quoted at the beginning.

I can see the lawsuits now…


End file.
